Capital Vices
by missflapjack
Summary: Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco ficlets based on the seven deadly sins.
1. Luxuria

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**_Title:_** _#1 – Luxuria_

_**Fandom:**__ Harry Potter_

_**Pairing:**__ Ron Weasley / Draco Malfoy_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Harry Potter is owned specifically by J.K. Rowling. Those who produce the movies are merely pawns._

_**Rating:**__ Mature (Only for language, really.)_

_**Summary: **__Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco minifics based on the seven deadly sins._

_**Note: **__These are based on the Latin (yes, the Latin) words for the Seven Deadly Sins (otherwise known as Capital Vices), compiled in 590 AD by Pope Gregory the First. I know my history on very few things, sadly. I'm not a history buff, and that little snippet of information probably doesn't even count...anyway... -_-; _

_**Word Count: **__487_

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_Luxuria [Lust]_

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Molten copper locked with steel. Two sets of hungry eyes circled each other; beast versus beast, neither daring to speak until the moment called for it. The room was silent except for the crackling of green flames in the fireplace.

Tension ran thick through the air, like the blood pounding through each rival wizard's veins. One of the men, closer to the opposite wall, held his wand in a trembling hand.

If a rather unfortunate fellow made the mistake of walking into the scene, he would have expected a duel to break out.

Perhaps one would.

"I've been watching you," Steely-Eyes murmured finally.

"And I...you," Copper finished after only a moment's hesitation.

A snort tore through the silence. It almost broke the spell, but darkness swallowed the minor slipup quickly. The figure parallel to the fireplace continued speaking in a low, deadly tone without pause. "You do realize that now we are alone, I'm not letting you slip from my fingers again."

"Slip...from...your...fingers," Steely's opponent echoed vaguely.

A long pause followed, until it was broken by an unexpectedly loud shout.

"Well, don't stand there and act like a complete dunderhead, you dunderhead!"

Ron blinked, startled. "Hey! What happened? We had a good thing going there!"

"Until you ruined it with your sparkling _intellect_," Draco snapped testily, crossing his arms.

"Ruined it? I was merely...uh, repeating it back to you!" Ron did not want to carelessly acknowledge the fact that he hadn't even known what the _hell_ Draco was talking about. _Slip through his fingers? What the hell am I, a bar of soap?_

"That's not in the rules."

Weasley's now crimson complexion was melting into his identically-colored hairline, causing his head to resemble a giant flustered strawberry. "You didn't say there were any rules."

Draco hesitated. "Well, I...ah, there is now."

"Oh, _really_? Care to share?"

"Yes."

Ron tapped his foot impatiently.

"And here they are: do not, and I repeat, do _not_ start arguing with me when we were nearly about to have wild, animalistic sex." Draco finished with a huff and a glare.

Ron instantly softened. He'd almost forgotten the entire reason for this... "Oh," He replied sheepishly. "Sorry."

The other boy grinned, blowing a lock of blonde hair out of his eye. "This whole entire quest to...what did you call it?"

"Spice up our sex life," Ron finished.

"Yes, spice up our sex life..." Draco suppressed the urge to giggle like Pansy after one of her 'secret' nose jobs, and continued on. "...it isn't working."

They stared at each other for another moment.

"So..." Ron bit his lip. "Since the role-playing failed, could we just skip to the sex, now?"

"_Merlin_, I love it when you get straight to the bloody fucking point, Ron," Draco purred in a tone Ron could only interpret as _yes_.

So he pounced. There was much shrieking, and to this day, neither of them will admit who that was.

* * *

_**Note: **__In case you didn't understand, Ron and Draco were trying a new technique to 'spice up their sex life' by role-playing. As...what, really? Pissed-off wizards about to attack and duel each other's brains out, that's what. Lame, I know. I totally could have made Draco dress up like a catgirl and have Ron call him 'Neko-sama', but that seemed a bit...overkill..._

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	2. Gula

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_**Title:** #2 – Gula_

_**Fandom:**__ Harry Potter_

_**Pairing:**__ Ron Weasley / Draco Malfoy_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Harry Potter is owned specifically by J.K. Rowling. Those who produce the movies are merely pawns._

_**Rating:**__ Mature (Only for language, really.)_

_**Summary: **__Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco minifics based on the seven deadly sins._

_**Note: **__Ron pigs out. Draco watches with mild disgust and a hint of amusement. (What, you expected a novel?)_

_**Word Count: **__643_

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_Gula [Gluttony]_

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Chicken leg. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Some form of plant (Which, what? Ron, actually eating green-colored foods? When the entire bloody universe pop off its axis?) that Draco couldn't identify. Butterbeer.

Repeat cycle. Chicken leg. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Freakish mutant plant-thingie.

Draco watched all of this was an absorbed half-smile on his face. Watching his lover eat was a strange phenomenon indeed, especially when said phenomenon resembled a Vacuum Cleaner with endless bag space.

He didn't even realize he was tapping his long fingers on the side of the table, when Ron suddenly stopped and looked over at him. The Weasley boy looked slightly confused. "Are you sure you don't want any?" He asked, holding out a chicken leg with greasy skin hanging off of it.

Draco went all tight-lipped. Ron affectionately referred to that as his, _'get-that-vulgar-thing-you-call-sustenance-away-from-me'_ face. "Thanks, but no. I'm trying to maintain my girlish figure," Draco replied, smoothing down his robes.

Ron snorted and licked a finger (seduction comes _oh, so_ naturally), causing Draco to have a momentary heart attack.

The blonde watched him carefully from his perch on the table nearby. Ron didn't even mind being treated like a zoo exhibit anymore; he'd gotten used to the fact that Draco had a fascination with watching everything he did. He couldn't blame him, really. _I'm bloody fantastic. It's a known fact..._

Draco picked absently at a thread poking out of his robes. "How can you eat so much, and stay so thin?" He finally inquired, curiosity getting the best of him.

Ron paused in his carnivorous rampaging of innocent creatures to stare at Draco in horror. "I'm...thin??"

Draco glanced at Ron's (notably) strong arms that could wring him out like a wet towel, and shook his head quickly. "Of course not. I mean, not that you're fat, or anything..." He swallowed. "...definitely not. But you aren't thin. You have a rather impressive body composition, actually-"

"Thank Merlin," Ron interrupted. "I thought you were serious for a moment there." He looked down at his chest and arms with overt apprehension. "Quidditch players, as you surely know, cannot be _thin_." Ron spat out the word as if it were a curse. "We must be lean, muscular, and well-built."

Draco chuckled quietly, licking his lips. "Oh, don't worry...you are most definitely all of that."

Ron laughed, but it somewhere along the way it morphed into a seductive purr. "Draco Malfoy, did you just compliment me?"

"I _always_ compliment you. What are you talking about?"

"Well, you..." Ron grinned like a Cheshire cat. "...usually end it with some form of witty sarcasm."

"Ah," Draco pointed a finger into the air. "That's because I'm an insensitive dimwit."

Ron cocked his head.

"I'm being sarcastic."

"Oh. _Oh_."

"See," Draco teased, nudging his lover gently. "You never see it coming."

"But you _are_ an insensitive dimwit..." Ron yelped and ducked under Draco's pale fist. "Kidding, kidding!" He held up his hands, laughing.

Draco was soon staring out a nearby window as Ron happily finished his lunch. Ignoring the sounds of animalistic martyrdom, he finally decided to say something. "Ron..." His tone was so soft that the red-headed boy instantly quit eating; glistening chicken bone poised beneath his lips. "Ron, are you really surprised that I find you sexy?"

The edge of Ron's lip twitched. "Well, no. I am quite irresistible." He peered at Draco from the corner of his eye. "Or so I've been told."

Weasley closed his eyes and took a long sip of butterbeer. When he opened them again, Draco was...uncharacteristically _close_ and staring at him with something unfathomable in his eyes. He swallowed.

"Do I...do I have something on my face?"

Draco let a smile briefly grace his expression, but it floated away as quickly as it had came. There was just _some_thing in those gorgeous grey eyes that Ron...couldn't...place...

"Wh-why are you staring at me like that?"

Draco leaned in closer and let his fingertips rest lightly on the line of Ron's jaw. Ron was only slightly aware that his heart was frantically trying to remember how to pump blood into his system, and then...Draco kissed him.

The only difference in this kiss from the other ones was its surprising...tenderness. It wasn't a shove-you-roughly-against-a-wall-and-swap-tonsils, passionate, mind-reeling, lip-reddening kiss. It was heartfelt. It was soft, and it was way, way too short-lived.

Ron blinked rapidly after Draco pulled away. He wanted to say something, anything to assure Draco, because he knew the blonde wasn't very comfortable with showing his true colors. _What do I say? What can I possibly say?_

Draco beat him to the punch. "I love you," He whispered, voice filled with raw emotion that Ron rarely had the opportunity to hear.

_Oh. That._

"I...I..." Ron flushed deeply, staring down at his half-empty plate. Draco's fingers still lingered near his jaw, hovering around, and it _tickled_. He repressed the urge to giggle like a smitten schoolgirl.

So Ron uttered the first line that popped into his post-kiss-frazzled mind.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Draco?"

The Slytherin just laughed. And laughed. Until Ron was positively sure he had ruptured some vessel in his brain needed to maintain sanity.

* * *


	3. Avaritia

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_**Title:**#3 - Avaritia_

_**Fandom: **__Harry Potter_

_**Pairing: **__Ron Weasley / Draco Malfoy_

_**Disclaimer: **__Harry Potter is owned specifically by J.K. Rowling. Those who produce the movies are merely pawns._

_**Rating: **__Mature (Only for language, really.)_

_**Summary: **__Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco minifics based on the seven deadly sins._

_**Note: **__The battle between Ron's best friend and Ron's lover wages on. (Ahh, to be wanted...young love... *goes misty-eyed*)_

_**Word Count:** 1,015_

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_Avaritia [Greed]_

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Ronald Weasley was a happy, carefree teenager. He had been around wizardry his entire life. He was a pure-blood. He was well endowed with a generous amount of freckles, an easy-going, charismatic smile, and a fairly attractive body to boot.

Ronald Weasley was Draco Malfoy's lover.

And, he also happened to be close friends with The Boy Who Lived. Someone who didn't get along all too well with the Malfoy family.

So, you could say that Draco was in constant competition with Harry Potter, and that was mainly for the complete and utter attention of Ron. The whole business was rather childish, really.

As if Draco hadn't hated Potter _before_, now he had to just go and ruin everything by inviting _his_Ron on a Hogsmeade trip with _Granger_, of all people.

Draco couldn't even tag along. That would be weird. And the whole situation was farther complicated by the fact that no one else knew about his relationship with Ron. Besides Harry. Whom Ron had blabbed the entire thing to after a small bribe payed in Chocolate Frogs. (Really, the boy was adorable, but horrid at a little thing called willpower...) Draco had gotten extremely pissed about the whole thing, and Harry only made it _worse_ by actually accepting that they were a couple...but Ron did that creepy little trick where he widened his puppy eyes and managed to pull Draco's heart out from its cold little shell.

Bugger.

Draco was contemplating all of this - in one of Hogwarts' many hallways - while staring moodily out of a large window. The snow was drifting down in large clumps and flurries, blanketing around the younger teenagers below. They were all shouting in laughter and stuffing snowballs down each others coats. The all-around mutual merriment made Draco sick. He crossed his arms and huffed angrily.

Nearby, a ghost atop a silvery steed erupted from the nearby wall, twirling a holiday wreath around one of his shimmering fingers. He peered down at Draco and guffawed.

"Why, whatever are you doing indoors, my dear boy? All of the young children are outside having fu-"

"Would you _shut up_?" Draco hissed. "I am not in the bloody _mood_, you vile apparition! I am trying to conjure up some angst, here! Shove off."

The jolly ghost's face fell. "Well...all right, then..." He turned around his horse and reared into the air, causing a couple of first-year girls to shriek like ninnies.

Draco turned back to the window and sighed. It was Ron who had convinced him that wallowing in his own self-pity was a sign of being insecure (If the whole Quidditch thing didn't work out, Ron could totally go in therapy), so standing around and sending mental curses to Harry Arsehole Potter wouldn't help anything.

Draco finally decided to navigate his way to the Gryffindor wing of the castle. He was going to attempt to rescue Ron from the clutches of his evil blood-sucking 'friends'.

One problem. He couldn't get in.

_Damn. I neglected to remember that one small detail._

"Hey," Draco hissed at a young first-year wizard entering the common room. "Bring Ron Weasley out here."

The boy stared at him with wide, innocent brown eyes. "Wh-why? You're a Slyth-"

Draco growled; annoyed and slightly embarrassed that his cheeks were already turning red. "I...need to yell at him."

The boy looked overly suspicious.

"Now!"

"Okay, okay..." He leaped behind the portrait of the Fat Lady; nimble and quick as a squirrel.

A few moments later Ron popped out, looking confused and nervous. He spotted Draco and visibly relaxed. "Oh...it's you."

Draco grappled for Ron's wrist and pulled him closer. "Who were you expecting?"

"Damien told me there was a red-faced blond bloke resembling a ferret who wanted to yell at me." He peered around Draco's shoulder for anyone who might be looking at them. The hall was empty. "I...I thought it could have been your father."

Ron's voice had trembled slightly when he said the word 'father'. Draco's eyes widened. "Are you afraid of my father?"

"Only of him finding out about us," Ron replied in a small voice.

And then, well, _hell_, Draco had to hug him. It was out of character, but Ron needed one. "He never will."

Ron didn't bother trying to move his arms; they were pinned down by Draco's embrace. He closed his eyes and dropped his head. Breathed in Draco's familiar, comforting scent. They stayed quiet for a moment that felt longer, until Ron finally cleared his throat.

"What...um, why did you come down here? To threaten innocent young Gryffindors?"

Draco chuckled. "Ah, I can never resist. But no." He brushed the line of Ron's jaw with a long index finger. "I've come to kidnap you."

"Kidnap me?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't count as a kidnapping when the victim agrees with it."

"I thought you were going to Hogsmeade with Potter and that Granger girl."

"_Harry_ and _Hermione_ won't mind if I skip on them..."

"They won't? You sure?" Draco looked doubtful. "Hmm. And here I was nearly positive that you were going to put up a fight."

"You were?" Ron stifled a laugh.

"Yes...and I was rather looking forward to it..."

"Merlin, you are strange, Malfoy," Ron murmured into Draco's ear.

"Not exactly." Draco shifted his eyes to the left, and twisted his fingers into Ron's. "But I am feeling _ever_ so greedy today."

"I can live with that - whah!" Ron yelped as Draco yanked him away from the Fat Lady's portrait. The Fat Lady giggled profusely as Ron was dragged around the corner.

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	4. Socordia

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**Title:** _#4 – Socordia_

_**Fandom:**__ Harry Potter_

_**Pairing:**__ Ron Weasley / Draco Malfoy_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Harry Potter is owned specifically by J.K. Rowling. Those who produce the movies are merely pawns._

_**Rating:**__ Mature (Only for language, really.)_

_**Summary: **__Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco minifics based on the seven deadly sins._

_**Note: **__One thing Draco and I have in common. Sleep. Is. Life. (Well, that and my tendency to abuse sarcasm, but this isn't a debate...)_

_**Word Count: **__848_

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_Socordia [Sloth]_

* * *

What it was that woke Ron up, he couldn't exactly place. All he knew was that he felt more secure than he had ever been in his life...and he _definitely_ didn't want to move an inch.

Come to think of it, he couldn't exactly place where he was, either.

Heavy-lidded and heavily confused, Ron shifted a little to the left. His own calf brushed against someone else's (notably thinner) calf, and that was when Ronald Weasley finally realized he was tangled up in another pair of legs.

_Morning amnesia really is a bitch._

Ron's eyes flew open, he blinked frantically a couple of times before realizing that those terrifying copper spiders on his face were, in fact, his eyelashes, and that extra set of limbs was, in fact, his lover. He threw his head back and started laughing.

The blonde mop breathing heavily in his ear awoke with a start. "Bloody hell, Ron..."

Draco sleepily propped himself up on one elbow (not after detangling himself from Ron, because what a hospital bill _that_ would be), and fixed a disdainful silver eye on the giggling mess beside him.

"For the love of poor insomniacs everywhere, why, for the love of Merlin, why, are you tittering like a mad hatter at..." Draco paused, peering around the enclosed, surprisingly dark space they occupied. "...um, whatever-o'clock in the morning?"

Ron peeked out from under his crimson bangs – that would have been enough excuse for Draco to tackle him if he weren't so irritated – and let out another soft, quiet, "Hee." The young wizard coughed.

"Choking on your humor?" The edge of Draco's mouth twitched.

"I just woke up and forgot who I was sleeping next to..." Ron collapsed in laughter once more.

"Oh, thanks. What every man wants to hear in the morning."

"Aw..." Ron snuggled closer and draped his arms around Draco. "...sorry," He purred.

"You are probably the only seventeen-year-old Quidditch player I know who actually _purrs_," Draco retorted with a half-amazed grin on his face.

Ron snorted, already lost in the warm, musky scent of Draco's chest. "You know you love it." He sighed wistfully. "I want to wake up like this every morning...if it is morning, that is. Merlin, it's dark in here..."

Draco propped a finger under Ron's chin and lifted it up so they were eye-to-eye. "Why can't we?"

"What? Purr? Draco, honestly, with me being brilliant and all, I know you feel inadequate about not being able to purr, but don't let that-"

"No. Wake up like this." Draco's eyebrows furrowed. "Every morning."

Ron instantly dissolved into dead weight, as if all of the tension was expelled from his body in one hefty sigh. He broke eye contact. "You know it isn't that simple," He whispered soberly.

"I wish it were."

"Hey...we had last night, didn't we?" Ron cracked a grin. "Which was amazing, if I might add."

"Extremely." Draco felt the need to protect wash through his body, and he wrapped his arms around the purring seventeen-year-old Quidditch player lying on top of him. "Some day...it will happen. We'll find a way to be together _every_ morning."

Ron nodded, but the somber mood was broken when he looked up at Draco and giggled again.

"_What_?"

"It's really hard to have a..." He gasped for air. "...serious conversation with you when your hair's sticking up like that..."

Draco frowned. "Like what?"

"You look like someone mauled a porcupine and threw them in a barrel of bleach!" Ron shook with laughter, which, annoyingly, (seeing as how he was Draco's apparent new body part) shook Draco as well.

"Damn it. I need hair gel..."

"Oh, can it, drama queen. It's cute."

The blonde wizard's mouth dropped open. "Cute? I am not cute! I am a _Malfoy_, we _Malfoys_ are not cute, we are-"

"Yeah, yeah, macho man. Tremendously. The essence of macho. Whatever." Ron locked copper eyes with Draco's own granite-colored ones. "Hey. Let's just stay here."

"What do you mean?"

"All day."

"What? Why?"

Ron rolled his eyes as if the answer were obvious. "You may be a macho, macho man, but I am a needy, oversensitive bucket of irresistible man-love. And I need attention. I need to be held, I need to be loved, and I need _sweet nothings whispered into my ears_ before I erupt into very unmanly tears." He glared defiantly at Draco, as if daring him to say anything different.

"Throw out some protective charms. They'll never find us." Ron brushed fingers against Draco's cheek. "Let's be fugitives, if only for today."

There was no answer.

"Please, Dra-"

"All right."

"What?"

"I said, all right. I will stay here, I will hold you, I will whisper your damned sweet nothings, and I will never stop loving you. Got it?" Draco chuckled and blew unruly bangs out of his eye. "I shall defy hair products for you, Ronald Weasley."

Ron was glowing so brightly, Draco swore the room lit up in that one fleeting moment. The purring resumed, and a Malfoy's manly, macho ribcage was unceremoniously crushed in the proceedings.

"Now, where did you put my wand?"

* * *

_**Note: **__Short but nauseatingly sweet. I swear, fluff has become my signature. (Flapjack, what have you become??) *rips out hair* Ahem. Anyway... as for the dark, enclosed space they were in... Use _your_ imagination. I certainly did. *drifts away into naughty thoughts* On a final note, Ron has teh LLL (long luscious lashes), so he is totally entitled to thinking they are man-eating spiders. I've thought so myself, once. (Don't ask. Let's just say my LLL are a mile long. Makes for terrifying wake-up conditions.)_

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	5. Ira

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_

**Title: **_#5 – Ira_

_**Fandom:**__ Harry Potter_

_**Pairing:**__ Ron Weasley / Draco Malfoy_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Harry Potter is owned specifically by J.K. Rowling. Those who produce the movies are merely pawns._

_**Rating:**__ Mature (Only for language, really.)_

_**Summary: **__Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco minifics based on the seven deadly sins._

_**Note: **__Slight Ron!Whumpage._

_**Word Count: **__1,382_

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_Ira [Wrath]_

* * *

Ron landed on the earth with the grace of a cheetah, albeit a few dislodged clumps of grass and a few muttered curses Molly would totally thump him for. But when he lifted his smudged face to the stands, the cheering of proud Gryffindors echoed through his ears on the walk back across the field.

There was a definite lilt to his stride. The only thing Ron regretted was that Draco hadn't been there to see his brilliant victory... Ah, well. Details were Ron's specialty. He would certainly fill Draco in later, on everything from how the wind smelled to the way his broom handled like a dream.

"Weasel."

Ron didn't bother turning around. He knew he would have to walk past the Slytherin team sooner or later. And the sooner that was over with, the sooner he could feast in the Great Hall with Harry and Hermione, the sooner he could escape, and the sooner he could sneak out to the courtyard with Draco. The red-headed boy's heart thumped in exhilaration. Everything was perfect.

A sharp-fingered hand dug into his shoulder. "I _said_, Weasel. Are you deaf?" There was no mistaking the voice. Ron closed his eyes and inwardly shuddered.

Marcus Flint.

Ron turned slowly around, picking Marcus's hand off of his shoulder and flinging it away as if it was made of human entrails.

Flint's mouth twisted into a sickening grimace. "You're going to wish you didn't do that, hotshot."

"I'm sure. Now, step out of my way before I have to kick you on your arse in front of the entire school, _and_ your teammates."

Marcus grinned widely, which really wasn't a pleasant sight. "Hilarious. Let's have a chat, shall we?" With that, he dragged a kicking, protesting Ron Weasley into the nearby room where players changed after the game. His friends hooted and catcalled raucously. "Beat his ass, Flint!"

"Yeah, teach him what Quidditch is really about!" More laughing. Marcus yelled at them to shut up.

"What the _fuck_ makes you think I want to _chat_ with the likes of _you_?" Ron tried to spit in Flint's face on every other word, but the gloved hand pressed over his mouth made it a tad difficult. He squirmed. _Oh, for the love of Merlin. After all I've been through, I'm finally going to be smothered by a slimy Slytherin in a deserted locker room. Bloody brilliant. _

Flint removed his hand after Ron kneed him violently in the ribs. "That'll teach you to lay your filthy paws on a Gryffindor," He snapped, then tried to make a dash for it. Marcus blocked his escape with what would, in any other situation, be an impressive show of rebounding skill; an elbow in the throat and a fist to the stomach.

Ron sank to the ground with an outward shock of breath. _Bloody...hell..._ He blinked fuzzily, and a dozen Flints danced in front of his tunneled vision as they kneeled down to his eye level.

"Aw, see, look what you've done..." Marcus brushed the side of Ron's cheek with a surprisingly smooth finger. He jerked away. "You've made me hurt you."

Ron's heart pounded as he struggled to gasp in air. "Fl...flin...t..."

"Wh...wha...t?" Marcus snorted mockingly. "I really didn't want to do that... Well. Actually, I did." Ron squeezed his eyelids shut as Flint smiled again. "And," He added casually. "I knew Draco wouldn't like it."

Ron's eyes flew open. "Wh...at?" He silently cursed his voice for sounding so broken.

The teeth of a man who couldn't possibly be human glistened with perceptible delight. "I knew it." He grabbed Ron's chin roughly. "I've seen the way he looks at you."

The younger Weasley coughed violently. He resisted the avid denial rolling to the edge of his tongue, and in a spur-of-the-moment bought of honest insanity, decided to agree with Marcus. "Ooh, tragically hideous _and_ smart. How wonderful for yo-"

Ron was silenced with a severe smack to the face. He felt blood ooze from his lower lip, and he thought, with feeble apprehension, that this would be difficult to pass off as an accident.

"Listen, Weasel. Draco has been seriously getting on my nerves lately. Romping around with heroic little Gryffindors? Please. He's gone fucking soft. And that is why..." Flint raked a scrutinizing, raptor eye across Ron's body. "...I decided tossing about his boyfriend would rile him up a bit."

Ron swallowed painfully. _He does know._ "You do realize, he's going to _murder_ you."

"All the more fun." Marcus barked out a sudden laugh, causing Ron to jump slightly. "I really would have more fun with you, but..." One more piercing, repulsively inappropriate stare. "...I want to make Draco angry, not homicidal."

"He already will be."

And with that, Ron spat in the beast's face.

Flint watched, with an amused half-smile on his face, as the ordinary Weasley boy limped away. He allowed Ron to leave, naturally. All a part of his plan. (Because, in Marcus's mind, a Malfoy wasn't a Malfoy unless he was on a murderous rampage.)

Tragically hideous and smart.

_Why, I like to think so._

* * *

Half of Hogwarts had seen Marcus Flint drag Ron across the playing field. Everyone was muttering about it at lunch, in the halls, on the ceiling (ghosts can be _so_ annoying), and girls everywhere were giggling about the possibilities. Really, two rival Quidditch players snagging some alone time after the game? It was the hottest thing to happen since the gossip about Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape getting locked in that broom closet. (The less said about that, the better.) So, naturally, it was only a matter of time before the steamy, completely untrue rumors graced Draco's ears.

And he went on a murderous rampage.

Ron was patiently waiting in their meeting place when he arrived. He'd made it there without much trouble, despite the fact that his ribs were still killing him and his lip split every time he grimaced thinking about what had just happened, but...he really didn't feel all that bad. The physical injuries couldn't match his crushed ego.

Ron was completely, utterly, and without a doubt frustrated with himself. He'd survived countless encounters with Death Eaters, and now, was beaten to a Quidditch-playing pulp by a bratty Slytherin. This would not end well. Either it _would_ end with Flint's scrawny arse hanging off the top of a Hogwarts tower, or Draco locked away for life for fraternizing with a Weasley.

Draco entered Ron's line of sight. He didn't look happy at all.

A spark of hope alighted in Ron. _I'd bet money on the Marcus's-scrawny-arse-hanging-off-a-Hogwarts-tower outcome. But...he can't know. He just can't._

_It's only a Quidditch injury. It's only a Quidditch injury._

"Where is he?"

_Fuck._

Draco's voice was low, controlled. But there was no mistaking the trembling undercurrent of pure, vengeful fury.

Ron closed his eyes and slumped dismally against the wall. "Who?"

Long fingers grazed against his black-and-blue cheek. Ron hadn't realized how much he missed that gentle touch in these last few hours. "Flint. I'll rip him limb from limb."

Ron groaned. "Don't go looking for trouble. That's what he _wants_ you to do."

Draco sucked in an uneven breath. "Why did he do this?"

Silence.

"Why, Ron?" The calm voice was shaking; Draco was red-faced and livid.

"He knows. About us."

Ron had expected that the shock of the news would have rendered his lover speechless, but Draco merely looked past him with cold, granite-colored eyes and ground his teeth together.

_Bloody hell, you know that isn't good for your teeth... _

He continued warily. "Flint just wanted to make you angry."

That was the kicker. Draco snapped, pushing off from the wall nearest Ron. His nostrils flared. Ron could practically see the wheels turning in his vengeful, slightly pointy head.

"Go to Madame Pomfrey. _Now_."

"But-"

"I know you haven't." Draco's eyes flashed. "I'll drag you there myself."

"You aren't-"

"I'm going to curse his ass into next month. And then I'm going to meet you in the hospital wing," Draco stated matter-of-factly.

With the end of those two sentences, Ron's flaxen-haired avenger (Oh yes. Dramatic word usage. Be afraid.) stalked down the hallway. Ron groaned again, but couldn't help a smile. He almost felt sorry for Marcus.

_Okay, a lot of money._

* * *

_**Note:**__ I have finally come to terms with the actuality that summer is, in fact, screeching to a rather unceremonious end, so here I go writing my ass off. Or hand. *has a week left before school, in which Flapjack must set her priorities straight, in her free time writing. Said. Ass off.* _

_Whatever floats your boat. 0.0 (Just to let you know, I WUB Marcus. Yesh. Wub. I may have portrayed him as an evil slimy git in this, but he ish teh bomb. No matter what anyone thinks.) Flapjack, over and out. *insert fanceh salute here*_

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	6. Superbia

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**Title: **#6 - Superbia

_**Fandom:**__ Harry Potter_

_**Pairing:**__ Ron Weasley / Draco Malfoy_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Harry Potter is owned specifically by J.K. Rowling. Those who produce the movies are merely pawns._

_**Rating:**__ Teen_

_**Summary: **__Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco minifics based on the seven deadly sins._

_**Note: **__Ron saved the Gryffindors's asses, and he's quite proud of it, thank you very much. Except there's the one little thing of how he ended up with a broken arm, a broken leg, and a wise-cracking Slytherin glued to his bedside._

_**Word Count: **__1,382_

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_Superbia [Pride]_

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_Well, this blows._

Oddly, all Ron felt was a strange sense of déjà vu as he plummeted out of the sky. And it really was weird. All of these life-or-death situations were getting _so_ old. And why did they always have to center around Quidditch? Harry never...okay, Harry _hardly_ ever had this much trouble with maneuvering on a damn broom.

As he hit the ground and was immediately numbed with searing pain, Ron thought wryly, _If I die, Draco is going to find some completely illegal way to resurrect me, and then he's going to kill me again._

The world faded into black.

* * *

_Th-thump. Thu-thump._

Something annoyingly loud thudded in Ron's ears, and it went on and on, never stopping, and just when he was about to scream, _"Merlin, somebody, turn that bloody racket off!" _...he realized it was his heartbeat.

And that meant he was alive.

And that meant that deceitfully gorgeous blonde bent over his bedside wasn't an angel.

And that meant...

...Draco!

Ron promptly struggled to sit up, breathing heavily. A firm hand pushed him back down, and something...something was trying to _choke_ him, but he wouldn't...let it... Ron grappled frantically at the object enclosed around his neck.

His angel shouted; fingers grabbed his. A soothingly cool hand pressed against his forehead.

Ron's breathing slowed. His eyes, which had been open the entire time but not entirely seeing...focused.

Draco.

"Bloody hell, idiot. If you thrash about like a demented squirrel, it won't set right..."

The fingers entwined in his, as well as the ones pushing back the sweaty copper hair on his forehead, those were Draco's. Madame Pomfrey was on the other side of the room, treating a first-year's horrid case of acne and grinning as if she actually enjoyed her job.

Ron sighed. "A squirrel? Really?" He tried to sound normal, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just gone completely insane and tried to rip off his own neck brace, but his voice was hoarse.

Draco smiled faintly. "I thought you were going to sleep forever."

"Unfortunately..." Ron peered around to get a better view of his surroundings. The hospital wing was relatively empty. "...no."

"Are you in any pain?"

Madame Pomfrey snorted from where she stood. "Don't be underestimating the power of magical painkillers, boy." She shook her head. "Honestly, kids these days..." The first-year looked up at her with wide eyes. "Not you. Shh. This is a delicate process."

Draco glowered at her. "Do you mind?"

She held up the hand that wasn't waving a wand around. "I'm not the one who came rushing into my hospital wing, carrying the same nutty sports enthusiast who got himself beat up last week! Honestly! Is it really possible for one boy to be so accident prone? Confound it, I'm just one woman! I've had to clean up after your daft twin brothers' handiwork for years! And what do I get for it? More exploding toilets, more Puking Pasties, more this, more that-"

Draco rolled his eyes. Ron huffed. "I'm not that accident prone; I just have a delicate composition...wait. You _carried_ me in here?"

"You aren't as heavy as you look, Ron." Draco pretended to study a thread sticking out of Ron's hospital blanket. "And I...I mean, you just leaned off your broom, and blocked the damn Bludger, and it looked ever so simple..." He trailed off. "...then you fell." Draco picked at the thread. "Everything froze. No one expected it."

Madame Pomfrey shooed away the first-year and turned to Ron. "Especially Draco here."

Ron blinked. "What?"

"The very first thing anyone saw was Lucius Malfoy's own little-"

"I'm not _little_."

"Whatever. Anyway, the first thing anyone saw was Lucius Malfoy's own pride and joy..." She snorted slightly, eliciting a glare from Draco. "...running out onto the playing field and scooping you up." The nurse shrugged. "Course, I wasn't there. Word travels fast."

She leaned over, smiling gently, and tapped Ron on the nose. "But, what I do know is you've got yourself quite a catch. Anyone would be lucky enough to have this young man look after them as much as he does you. Don't underestimate what you've got, there, Ronald. Draco's a fine enough boyfriend." Madame Pomfrey shuffled towards the other side of the room to peer out the window. "I'm not one to judge, 'cause I've always been raised to accept what comes out of life." She shook her head. "Even if it is a Slytherin and a Gryffindor sharing the same-"

Draco interrupted. "Okay, I think that's enough...um, talking." He reached over and closed Ron's mouth. "Flies," He reminded jokingly.

"Everyone...knows..." Ron had gone without blinking for the last minute, and when Draco moved his hand, his mouth fell open again.

"Well, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves-"

"There couldn't have been a worst possible way for them to find out!" Ron groaned loudly.

Draco patted his cheek. "Relax. Even if they do...well, it doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore."

"Aren't you worried? I mean, your father?"

"He's got nothing to do with this. What matters is that we're together, and you're safe, and I'm never letting you on a broom again."

Ron frowned. "I'm not that bad..."

"You aren't," Draco admitted. "You did just win the house cup for the Gryffindors, but you broke a leg, an arm, and nearly broke your _neck_ in the process."

"I _WON_ THE HOUSE CUP?!?"

Draco jumped. "Yes..."

"OHMYGOD."

"Bloody hell, Ron! Settle down!"

"I've got to get out of here." Ron squirmed and threw off his blanket, only to be forcibly shoved back onto the bleached hospital pillow.

"If. You. Move. The. Bones. Will. Not. Set. Right," Draco growled.

"But the house cup..." Ron sighed loudly.

"...is not going anywhere. And neither are your friends."

Ron instantly quieted down, switching, in a stellar example of a bipolar mindset, to an almost-calm voice. "Has anyone tried to visit?"

Knowing Draco, he probably had snapped at all of his friends' heels like a pit bull, driving them out of the hospital wing before they could even catch a glimpse of Ron's poor, mangled body.

Ron grinned to himself.

"Ah...yes..." Draco grimaced uncomfortably. Ron glared at him.

"You chased them out, didn't you?"

"No."

"Draco..." Ron sulked and crossed his arms, trying to hide the pain so he looked at least remotely serious. "Haven't I told you before? I need 'get well' chocolates. And love. And you are a frightening, overprotective hunk of man who probably doesn't even know what the words 'fan service' mean."

"Fan service? Just what in the hell are you talking about?"

"My loyal fans," Ron drew out slowly. "I won the house cup. Me. A Weasley. Not just any Weasley, to be exact, but Ronald Weasley, who is, in fact, the most amazing of them all-"

Draco leaned forward and planted a firm, sweet kiss on Ron's bottom lip. As much as he didn't want to admit it at the moment, that one kiss was better than all the chocolate in the world.

Draco drew away slowly, eyes sparkling. "I'll let them in."

"Wha..." Ron blinked away dancing leprechauns. _If this whole kissing thing is going to leave the same results every time, I'm going to be a puddle of goo before I reach age twenty._ "...huh?"

"Your fans." Draco stood up, loosening his fingers in an attempt to let go of Ron's.

Ron pouted. "You're leaving?"

"Only for a little while."

The connection broke. Ron felt momentarily lost and pathetically small underneath his neck brace. "You'll come back?" The thought of get well chocolates was long past. He wanted his angel to stay.

"I'll sleep here tonight." Draco's eyes darted warily to where Madame Pomfrey stood. "If that's all right." She nodded curtly.

"Oh. Goodbye, then..."

Draco stopped halfway across the floor. "Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"This whole thing. We'll figure it out."

Ron nodded, smiling softly. "I know."

"So get better. Or else," Draco added sternly. "And...I'm proud of you."

Ron's mouth abruptly dropped open. It turned into sort of a shell-shocked smile as he watched Draco leave.

_Proud of me. Proud of _me_. Oh, Merlin and all his bloody magical ancestors. I could most likely die a happy man right now._

As Ron appreciatively stared at Draco's backside until it disappeared, he thought, proudly, _Who needs fans?_

* * *


	7. Invidia

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**Title: **#7 - Invidia

_**Fandom:**__ Harry Potter_

_**Pairing:**__ Ron Weasley / Draco Malfoy_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Harry Potter is owned specifically by J.K. Rowling. Those who produce the movies are merely pawns._

_**Rating:**__ Mature (Only for language, really.)_

_**Summary: **__Draco figures if he's going to hell anyway, he might as well make the most of his life first. A series of Ron/Draco minifics based on the seven deadly sins._

_**Note: **__Draco feels angsty and unloved, because he is just the essence of drama queen. (He should try out for Top Model, eh~ *le gasp*) Last chapter._

_**Word Count: **__844_

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_Invidia [Envy]_

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It's not like he was jealous or anything. Completely the opposite. Draco _wanted_ Ron to have friends. He didn't want to be a nagging girlfriend-type bloke who latched onto every tender moment like the next day wasn't going to roll around. Ron would drop him like a potato sack if he was like _that_. One of the reasons Ron dealt with Draco was because of his ability to act completely indifferent to his charm, intellect, and extremely well-endowed set of freckles, all the while still managing to be the sweetest, most endearing main squeeze a guy could have. (That last part Draco avidly denied on a daily basis, but Ron knew better.)

So it was healthy for him – for a Gryffindor to follow his humble, if not slightly conceited instinct and bask in the glory that was the aftermath of a heroic accomplishment.

Nevertheless, Draco couldn't help digging his fingers into his goblet of pumpkin juice as he watched Harry high-five his surreptitious lover _again_. He ground his teeth and snorted a puff of smoke from his nostrils. (Figuratively speaking.)

Pansy sighed heavily. "Disgusting, isn't it?"

He didn't answer. She snorted. "I said-"

"I _heard_ you, Parkinson." He tore his gaze away from the back of Ron's head and cast her a disdainful glare. "Don't you have to go and make some little girls cry, or something?"

"You wound me, Draco," Pansy replied dryly; studying her nails.

Over on the Gryffindor table, Ron laughed loudly. Draco sighed heavily and attempted to avert his stare. What he wouldn't give to be backing that heroic little ass into a corner and showing him how Malfoys celebrated _their_ accomplishments.

_Wait, that sounds wrong. Or does it?_ Draco closed his eyes. This bloody commemoration banquet was taking far too long.

"Stomachache?"

So much for a depressing three-second powernap. He opened his eyes again. "What?"

Pansy blinked her long eyelashes at him; her expression more or less relaying that he was a dimwit. "You look sick." She peered around the table. "Where are Crabbe and Goyle?"

"I _am_ sick," Draco retorted. "And I could care less where those numbskulls spend their time."

"Really?" The Slytherin girl smirked. "Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"How oblivious you are." She trailed off, looking at him closely as if he were a Potions experiment.

"To _what_? Honestly, if you don't have anything better to do, do it somewhere else. I haven't got the time." He waved Pansy away, only provoking her to lean closer and whisper into his ear.

"It's fairly obvious, Draco, that your mind is on someone else. And you are a fool if you think the rest of the world doesn't notice." With smug, knowing smile on her face, she jumped up from the table and sauntered away.

Draco's heart dropped into his stomach. _She couldn't possibly..._

_Oh, fuck._

He was so busy fuming to himself, Draco barely noticed when nearly the entire Great Hall fell silent, apart from a few gasps and muttered comments.

Come to think of it, it was almost _deathly_ quiet. Draco looked up and his mouth promptly fell open.

Ronald Weasley was sitting in front of him. Grinning.

On the _Slytherin_ table.

"Oh, hello, Draco." Ron propped his elbows up and cocked his head to the side. "So, does this table have any food, or do you lot just sit around and groom yourselves?"

_Actually, I'm trying to keep my girlish figure- Wait. Just. A. Minute. _Either Ron was joking, or this was all some horrible daydream.

Ron leaned forward and whispered in a lower tone, "Draco, come on. Work with me here."

Or not.

"You can't _be_ here," Draco hissed. "This isn't your table."

"Of course it isn't." Ron gazed into his reflective silver eyes. "I've never been one for rules."

"Yes, you have. Everyone's going to-"

"To what? Put two-and-two together? Because even if I go back to my table, I think we're a little past that. Don't you think?"

Draco twisted his lips together and tried not to smile. "Why?"

Ron shrugged. "Why not? I think..." He reached over and interlaced Draco's fingers in his own. Half the hall shrieked (mostly girls), and a couple fainted. Draco turned bright red. "...that I'd like to spend the rest of this feast with you."

"You...you..."

"Single-handedly destroyed any chances of our relationship staying a secret?" Ron chuckled. "Yeah. Brilliant, aren't I?"

"Merlin, I love you."

"Who doesn't?" Ron smirked, and Draco instantly knew that somewhere Pansy Parkinson was doing the same thing. "Now, are you going to invite me to sit next to you, or have I worn out my welcome?"

Draco finally allowed himself a smile. "Never. Come here..." He caught Harry Potter's eye a few tables over, and his smile faded. However, Harry merely nodded and gave a thumbs-up.

And just like that, even though no one knew about it, Draco's jealously was instantly forgiven. As he ignored the incredulous stares hot on the back of his neck and chivalrously patted the spot next to him, he felt a surge of happiness that would last a lifetime...

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_**Note: **__Thanks for reading~_

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